


Steppes

by james



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mongolian Shack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandt is cold, wet, and just wants to get back to the safe house.  What he ends up with is a lot more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steppes

**Author's Note:**

> There's an illo for this story!! How cool is that? [greenteaduck](http://greenteaduck.deviantart.com/art/Mission-Impossible-Benji-x-Brandt-283676621) drew a piece for the story. Leave some love! \o/

Brandt actually liked Ulaanbaatar, most of the time. Right at this moment he could have done without its particular charms: namely, being one of the coldest fucking cities he'd ever been to in his life.

He'd had missions to Mongolia five times during his career. It wasn't completely unheard of for an agent to return to the same place, but scuttlebutt around the IMF cafeteria had revealed that most field agents, once they found they liked a place, seemed to never get assigned there again. Murphy's Law in action, and Brandt hadn't questioned his luck when Ethan had given them their current assignment.

Benji had teased him on the entire flight over about his barely disguised joy, but Brandt had long ago found there was something about the steppes that he simply loved. He couldn't explain it, he only felt it whenever he was here.

Right now he would have traded the sight of it for a Parisian hotel, Miami taxicab, or even just a working radio. He'd almost lost feeling the tips of his fingers and toes, and from the dull thud of his feet reverberating up from the pavement, he knew soon he wouldn't be able to feel anything from the ankle down. He was grateful for the mercies that left him without injuries, but -- he was fucking _cold._

He tucked his hands more tightly into his jacket, mentally ticking off the distance he'd gone and how much farther there was to go. Sometimes he hated how easily he could recall information, the map of the city he'd committed to memory on his first arrival, seven years ago. He could still consult that mental image, see just how far the distance was from where he was now to where he had to go. So fucking far to the small house Ethan had secured for them, farther still from anything Brandt might risk as a safe place to duck in and hide, or ask for help and a phone.

He didn't dare wave down a passing bus, beg a ride in flawless Mongol, even offer to pay triple for the ride out of the generosity of Ethan's wallet, once they arrived. Brandt's own wallet and radio were left behind in the truck, in the jacket he'd lost while scrambling free. He'd taken his first chance to get away, leaping from the back of the truck as it drove across the bridge. The river had been deep enough, and the current strong enough to carry him away from discovery. Of course it had also carried him further away from the rest of the team, giving him four extra miles to walk.

But the men who'd grabbed him would be everywhere looking for him. He had no idea who they were; they'd grabbed him thinking he was a tourist, well-dressed and available for ransoming. It wasn't a crime connected to the mission Hunt and his team had come for, and as far as Brandt could tell, the snatch had been wholly coincidental. It didn't mean they were harmless; far from it. He might not have recognised them from any briefing, but Brandt knew their type, had seen that look in people's eyes far too often to not know they would casually kill when it suited them. Local thugs, not international terrorists, but still dangerous. Anyone who'd given a ride to a Caucasian man would be just as likely to have their throats cut as Brandt's own, once they found him again.

There was little enough danger if he simply kept out of sight and walked back to the house. Warm, dry clothing and a cup of something strong and he'd be fine. Brandt shivered, hard, because the wind was cutting through his clothes and the glances of those he passed told him that should anyone come asking, it wouldn't take long for fingers to be pointed in his direction.

He walked faster, ducking his head down against the wind. He thought about the mission, and the man's face he'd seen shouting the order to grab him, and the sound of the voice over that man's radio. He'd know them both if he saw or heard them again, and as he walked he drew a picture of the man's face in his head, ready to sketch it out for Benji's computers to run a facial recognition match.

Brandt thought about the coffee he'd steal from Benji, though it would be too heavily sugared and weak enough to taste like water. Where Benji had picked up a taste for it, Brandt didn't know, but he'd mentioned to Ethan about the need for a mission to Turkey, and soon, so they could break him of it.

Ethan and Jane had laughed and agreed, and Benji had feigned insult for days. But Brandt knew he'd happily drain an entire pot of Benji's horrible coffee now, hold the thermos of it in his hands for as long as they'd let him -- hell, he'd roll it around his body if he had to, soak up whatever heat he could.

He shrugged his shoulders, murmured a heavily-Russian accented apology to the woman he'd accidentally jostled. Not too much farther, now, crossing streets he remembered from two years ago. He saw a cafe he might have risked going into, except the owner hadn't been well-pleased with the IMF agents as they'd left. They'd left the place slightly more shot-up than when they'd arrived, and even an IMF-funded repair crew wouldn't make the man forget who'd been responsible in the first place.

Even if Chuluun felt forgiving, Brandt knew he couldn't risk it. The men after him would search, asking questions with as much force as they wished, and Brandt wouldn't be responsible for anyone knowing a thing about his passing by.

So he kept his head down and he walked, squeezing his arms close against his body and thinking about the mission instead of the cold. He ran scenarios in his head, tossing ideas to himself and he'd almost -- almost -- distracted himself from the dead thuds of his feet and the stiffness of his hands when he finally rounded a corner and saw the small, inconspicuous shack where the team would be waiting for him.

He had no idea if they even knew he'd been grabbed, if they were even here or if they'd gone out looking for him. Brandt wondered that it had taken him this long to think of the possibility -- he rubbed the palm of his hand along the side of his head, but he didn't feel any pains that suggested he might have hit it. Well, it hardly mattered, since he'd find radios at the safehouse even if the team was gone and he could easily tell them he'd returned on his own.

Brandt staggered the last several yards, stumbling on the uneven pavement and nearly tripping more than once. But finally he made it, fell against the back door of the house and smacked his hand against the doorknob, cursing when he couldn't get his fingers to work properly to open it.

A second later the door was yanked open, and Ethan was standing there, looking briefly surprised before glancing behind Brandt, then yanking him quickly inside. Brandt leaned against the wall of the tiny mudroom, letting the comparative heat start soaking in.

"What happened? Are you all right?" Ethan asked, words coming out in one quick, controlled rush.

Brandt tried to describe what had happened, the men who'd grabbed him and his escape, but even he could hear that his words weren't making too much sense, rolling out of order over a tongue that wouldn't function properly. Ethan seemed to understand him, though, as he only had one further question.

"Were you followed?"

"I have no fucking idea," Brandt said, feeling exhausted and cold and feeling every inch of his enforced hike. "I'm sorry, I don't know," he addd, shaking his head because he should have noticed, should have paid attention but the last half hour was mostly a blur and before then -- he couldn't swear to it, but if they'd found him they would have grabbed him again.

"Is that-- Brandt!" Benji shouted, hurtling himself through the small doorway from the living area only to stop just shy of Brandt, one hand frozen in mid-air, reaching for him. Brandt tensed before forcing himself to calm down. He wanted-- but it wasn't the time, nor the place, and as much as he needed to collapse in Benji's arms, he couldn't allow himself the luxury.

Behind him Jane stepped into view, looking over Benji's shoulder at Brandt, a worried look on her face as she looked him up and down. It occurred to him that he probably looked like shit. Dripping wet, shivering, and exhausted probably didn't say he'd been at the library doing his research.

Ethan put a hand on his shoulder and pushed gently, nudging him away from the wall. "You'd probably like to go take a hot shower."

"Oh, God," Brandt breathed. "I will kill anyone who tries to stop me." He stood, then swayed. "Assuming I can stand up long enough not to break my neck." He could see Benji's hands clenching into fists, but the other man said nothing.

From behind him, though, Ethan just leaned forward and grinned. "I think Benji would be happy to volunteer to help."

Brandt froze. He was close enough to feel Benji tense as well, and neither of them seemed able to look over at Ethan.

Jane raised an eyebrow at him. "What, we weren't supposed to know?"

"It's not exactly sanctioned," Benji blurted, but the words seemed to be his only protest, as he immediately moved forward and grabbed Brandt, one arm around his waist and Brandt felt himself wanting to collapse against him. He tried not to, if only because he was taller and heavier, and didn't want to knock them both onto the floor.

"I guess we weren't nearly as discreet as we thought," Brandt said, trying for nonchalant, but his teeth were clattering, banging his jaws together. His words came out stuttering, and his couldn't seem to make himself stop shivering.

"Oh, please," Jane said. "You're completely discreet. Except to Ethan and me. We thought maybe it was just casual sex, actually, until the first time Benji walked in wearing your shirt." Jane grinned at Brandt. "You couldn't stop looking at him and smiling. That's not casual."

Benji coughed and glanced down -- at another of Brandt's shirts he was wearing. Brandt wanted to reach over and tug on it, tell him exactly what he'd been thinking all morning when Benji had wandered out of the bathroom wearing it. But he couldn't make his hand work right, and instead he ended up with his head against the wall and thinking about sitting down for a few weeks.

Jane looked him over then ducked out of sight, calling back, "I'll get the shower started."

"Are you all right?" Benji asked, placing one hand on Brandt's face and Brandt closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from pressing into it.

"You're warm," he said, and he heard Ethan stifling a laugh.

"You bitched about that the entire time we were in Columbia. Never let me so much as cuddle," Benji said, voice jittery with nerves and Brandt saw him slide a glance to Ethan as he spoke. But there was worry as well, overshadowing it as he said, "Come on, let's go get you warmed up."

Brandt felt hands tugging at him and he went, walking clumsily but guided by Benji through the house towards the smaller of the two tiny bedrooms. He could hear the shower going, gave Jane a grateful nod when she came back into the room with an armful of towels.

Jane and Ethan stopped at the door as Benji continued to pull Brandt towards the bathroom. "Call if you need any help," Ethan said, his tone serious, making Brandt wonder just how bad he really looked. He only needed to get warm, and maybe lie down for a few hours -- with Benji, if he could, since apparently they'd been shit for keeping secrets.

"I'm sorry," Benji said quietly as he closed the bathroom door and began taking off Brandt's shirt.

"For undressing me?" Brandt raised an eyebrow, tried to waggle it lewdly and knowing how miserably he was failing when Benji didn't even crack a smile.

"For them." He nodded towards the door.

With a sigh, Brandt shook his head. "I know we could lose our jobs if anyone else finds out. But it honestly doesn't seem like they care." Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but he couldn't find it in himself to panic. Maybe panic had been trained out of him.

Benji nodded, but he didn't look exactly happy. Brandt let himself teeter forward, and Benji had to jerk his arms up to catch him from falling. "What are you--" The alarm on his face faded to annoyance as he took in Brandt's grin. "Do you want me to let Ethan do this?"

Brandt just let himself rest there, nearly naked with only his socks and boxers still on. He wanted to say -- something, he didn't know what, because his brain was growing as cold and tired as the rest of him. Or maybe he was just insanely relieved.

They'd been so good for so long, hiding themselves except for when they could be absolutely certain no one would discover them. So many times he'd just wanted to say good morning with a kiss, or reach out to touch, so many times he'd seen Benji fighting the urge to do the same. He grinned at Benji, the rush of relief making him woozy.

Benji rolled his eyes. "Come on, then, get in the shower. Off with those, first." He yanked down Brandt's underwear, knelt down to peel off his socks. Then he helped Brandt climb into the small cubicle where he froze in the spray of hot water.

Brandt leaned his head back and let the heat begin to soak in, then he looked at Benji. "I'm never coming out, so you may as well get in."

Benji glanced behind him, no doubt thinking how thin the walls were. At night they'd all slept simply because they'd been trained to sleep in any circumstance, but every single noise made in any part of the house could be heard vividly throughout. Even the noise of the shower wouldn't be much, but Brandt decided he simply didn't care. He was too tired to do anything but stand still, anyhow.

He thought he was going to have to whine, but Benji finally nodded. "Yeah, all right." He stripped down quickly and shoehorned himself into the shower, wrapping his arms around Brandt's waist. Brandt smiled and closed his eyes. In the end they simply stood there, not moving, not making any noise at all. It was wonderful, Brandt thought, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the hot water talking.

When the hot water ran out and Brandt could feel his fingers and toes, Benji pulled free and grabbed the towels, wrapping one around his own waist before burying Brandt in the rest. "Come on, let's get you into some--" Benji tugged at his arm, had started walking through the bedroom when he stopped. Brandt looked where Benji was starting.

There on the floor beside the bed, both his and Benji's duffels were sitting. Jane's things were gone -- they'd drawn straws the night before for the couch and Jane had simply claimed the small bedroom so she wouldn't have to share. No one had argued, but now--

Benji looked up at him, a tiny smile playing on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Brandt just leaned forward and kissed him.


End file.
